


and i will try (to fix you)

by raewastaken (IWriteLove)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-25 20:43:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6209383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWriteLove/pseuds/raewastaken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wonders, vaguely, hopefully, if this is what love is supposed to feel like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. first.

**Author's Note:**

> hhHAAA. peakbin finally. this is part 1 of 5. whew  
> this is like. a super amalgamation of shit ive dealt with in my life kinda. weirdly thrown together. so theres a lot of kinda personal shit buzzing around.  
> s/o to ejraptor on tumblr for making sure this isnt a trainwreck. i love u. ur lovely.
> 
> [based off of this post](http://bedlamsbard.tumblr.com/post/99199496248/first-he-touches-you-and-you-light-on-fire-your)

**_first. he touches you and you light on fire. your wrist blazes where his fingers meet your skin. the burns don’t show, but it’s hard to breathe with ash in your lungs. it’s so hard to breathe. you’re suffocating daily._ **

Matt almost starts to forget what it feels like to love without an ache in your chest. The dull numbness is still fresh on his mind from years of uphill mountain climbs and tripping off into a chasm below, with no real indication that either had been done. He’s not sure what the sugar spun love feels like anymore, still feels pin pricks in his fingers when his hands shake over too-confrontational messages, still feels guilty and sick to his stomach at the idea of waxing poetic about how much someone matters to him, for the fear of negative backlash over prioritizing one person over the other. He still feels the anxious buzz in his brain when he’s forgetful in replying to texts while hanging out with someone, worried about the reaction, the deadpan answer he’ll never see, but can already hear, the cold shoulder waiting to frost his barely beating heart. He’s still emotionally drained, exhausted from years of chasing his tail and cowering in corners, and trying to shape himself into being someone he knows he’ll never be, just to appease someone who should have accepted him for who he was. Love is foreign to him; he doesn’t know what it means anymore. Maybe, once upon a time, he knew, when his skin tinted pink and his cheeks ached from smiling, and his chest felt like bursting with every beat of his heart. He doesn’t really remember the rush he got then. He wishes he could remember. 

There’s still neat pink lines healing on Matt’s thighs and on his wrists the night he finally caves under Spoole and Adam’s endless requests to come out of his apartment, and come be with friends again. It had been months, they state, although it hadn’t felt like that long, and as respectful as they were with Matt’s space (and God bless them for that), they were worried about him, about him isolating himself from people who cared for so long. Matt couldn’t blame them, and Matt couldn’t help the anxious tickle at the thought of their concern, and shows up to Adam’s parents’ house in the middle of the suburbs for a party he never wanted to be at in the first place.

It’s not a whole lot of people, which Matt is grateful for, if nothing else; he’s not sure he can handle crowds, and he’s not sure he can get through meeting more than a handful of faces he’s never seen. It’s warm outside, too warm for the hoodie he’s wearing. Adam’s got the pool cleaned and cleared, a speaker system set up to play a mix of songs from the radio, and there’s already a few people swimming when Matt wanders into the backyard to find his friends, a red cup of beer he couldn’t stomach in his hand. 

“Matt!” He hears his name being called and turns, seeing Spoole waving and heading over to him. Matt manages a small smile and moves to meet him halfway, squeezing past a small group to do so. He doesn’t anticipate the man he’s moving behind to move back as he does, and he loses his balance as he’s knocked into. Matt drops the cup into the pool and feels the wind rush to meet him, before there’s a hand tight around his wrist, on his bare skin, holding him up from falling.

The sensation  _ burns _ . 

He’s brought up to a stable standing position in seconds that feel like hours, and pulls his wrist away, tugging down his sleeve quickly and rubbing it with his hand through the fabric, adrenaline pounding in his veins like fire. The man looks down at him, wide eyed and concerned. “Shit, sorry,” he says with a nervous smile. “Good thing I have fast reflexes, huh?”

The first thought in Matt’s mind is that he’s  _ beautiful _ , dark curls and a nice dress shirt, a warm smile and sharp hazel eyes. His wrist tingles from where his hand had been, a mix of discomfort and curiosity, and his lungs don’t feel like functioning. He skin burns from the contact, and his breathing feels like the aftermath, and his chest doesn’t feel empty anymore. Matt opens and closes his mouth stupidly for a moment, before he settles on a lame “It’s okay” and feels his face flush.

Spoole steps up to them, and he wonders how long that exchange took, before he’s resting a careful hand on Matt’s arm. “Are you okay?” He asks, and Matt nods, wordlessly, still feeling his voice stuck in his throat. “Well… I guess I don’t need to introduce you two now. Matt, this is Joel. He’s in my speech class. And Joel, this is my best friend, Matt.”

Joel looks like a work of art when he smiles, offering the same hand he caught Matt with to shake. Matt fidgets as he takes it. “Nice to meet you. Spoole doesn’t ever shut up about you.”

Matt’s cheeks go more pink as Spoole jumps in to chastise him for the comment, and he gives a weak excuse to step out of the conversation, his heart pounding in his ears. It feels like he’s suffocating. He doesn’t know why he feels like this, he doesn’t know what it is. It feels like anxiety tightening around his lungs and holding his breathing hostage, but it doesn’t at the same time. It’s warm, and it makes his stomach flutter, and his knees feel weak, even with his wrist still aching under his hoodie. He finds Adam, takes a new cup of alcohol he can stand, and sits on the side of the pool for the rest of the night. He watches Joel over the top of his drink, and checks his wrist more than once for burns he’s sure should be there, and ignores the coil of emotion in his gut demanding attention.

(He wonders, vaguely, hopefully, if this is what love is supposed to feel like.)


	2. second.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **second. it hurts to watch him. he shines. he’s brighter than the sun, he’s too beautiful for your eyes. it’s hard to look at him. it’s even harder to look away from him. you’re going blind.**

_ (He feels the tingle in his fingertips, as he crouches onto the front porch, outside and away from his friends, face in his phone. He had been having a pleasant time, swiveling back in forth in a desk chair, watching Bruce destroy James at billiards, and playing DJ with Spoole, while they all laughed along with Adam and Lawrence’s lame jokes. He couldn’t remember the last time they had all gotten together like this, crowded into James’ older brother’s house to mooch off his alcohol, wear out his pool table, and play video games until they were too drunk to understand them, or too tired to stay awake. He had fucked up though, texted the wrong thing at the wrong time, and now he was trying to rectify the situation, sprouting apologies and “no it’s okay, I’m not that busy”s, with shaky fingers and stinging eyes, trying, just this once, to not be brushed off with a cold shoulder. He feels his chest break at each one worded reply, with every “I don’t want to bother you”, knowing the aftermath later would leave him gasping alone in bed with a tear-soaked pillow and a chest that ached, that knew he needed out, but the threat of loneliness was too great. He lets out the first broken sob of the night, sleeve finding his eyes as the front door opens behind him, and wordlessly, Adam sits next to him, arm around him, letting Matt lean into his warmth. “You need to leave him,” is all his friend says. He wishes he took his advice.) _

 

* * *

 

 

Matt spends the night after the party nursing a coil in his stomach and a longing in his heart that doesn’t fade away for weeks. He’s not sure what’s gotten over him suddenly like this, and part of him doesn’t want to know; he hasn’t felt something that isn’t numbing emptiness in months, since what was left of his spirit broke, and he had to pick up all the pieces on his own. The only thing he really felt, physically, nowadays was something that shouldn’t even be counted, and even then, he hasn’t found himself glancing at his X-Acto knife on his desk as often as he did. It’s not a bad feeling, whatever this is, and he’s taking his blessings as they come, because it  _ is _ nice. It’s nice to feel a warmth and flutter where usually there was a dull ache. He still can’t shake knowing that it was because of Joel, though, and he doesn’t know how to handle that, so he files it away for a problem for another time.

He’s given bits of information about Joel through Spoole, and thanks every deity above for it. He was their age, twenty-one, and going to the same college as Spoole, but for a degree in theater instead. He met Adam through Spoole and the two became fast friends, before Spoole had somehow wormed him into their friend group, and Matt had been the only one to not meet him. “I’m glad you did,” Spoole adds in cheerfully, taking a sip of his chocolate milkshake over their lunch. “Although, it would have sucked if your first impression of him was being pushed into the pool.”

Matt doesn’t voice his thoughts, that he probably would have still found himself head over heels anyway.

Spoole’s the one to drag him into having a face to face meeting with Joel, without the annoying flood lights Adam set up, without the smell of chlorine mixed with alcohol, and without all the noise of a party surrounding them. He drags Matt out of the house (more willing than with the party), and to his school’s auditorium, to watch the rehearsals for the theater department’s newest production. They don’t need to sneak in, Spoole already on good terms with the directors, and sit as middle as they can find to watch the run-through already taking place.

There’s not much of a set, everyone’s still on book, and no one’s in costume. But there’s lights set already from one of the battens above, shining brightly down on the stage, and Matt catches a brief glance at a small gathering of stage hands off to the wings, who are giggling amongst themselves, and he can’t blame them. Joel’s standing in the middle of the spotlights, reciting lines from the script he’s holding and he looks otherworldly. He’s so bright, amongst the stage lights, like a star in the dark sea above. Matt could watch him like this for hours, watch the way the shadows fall across his face, how his curls bounce with each movement he makes, how he gestures softly with his hands and with his arms, how he breathes life into the character he’s acting as.

Matt’s going blind watching him, but it’s so hard to look away.

When rehearsal stops and everyone’s collecting their things to head out, onto their lives and school work, Spoole and Matt walk up onto the edge of the stage where Joel’s sitting with his feet hanging off the side, taking a purple highlighter to his script, lip worried between his teeth. The stage lights were shut off not long ago, but he still looks made of light himself, and Matt feels that tingle in his fingertips that feels like longing and a weight in his lungs that keeps him from breathing. “Nice work, Joel,” Spoole says once they’re close, leaning back against the stage next to him. 

Joel looks up and down at him. “Hey, I didn’t know you were coming by today,” he says, then his gaze moves over to Matt, where he feels rooted to the floor, heart leaping into his throat at the smile that’s passed to him. “Oh, Matt. Hey. Glad you came by.”

“Y-Yeah,” Matt chokes out, then clears his throat awkwardly, shuffling his feet a bit. “Sean brought me. You’re amazing on stage. High school theater never seemed like this.”

Joel perks up at that, and Matt tries to tell him it's the heat from the stage lights that make his face look pink. “Oh, thanks,” he says happily. “I didn’t know you were into theater.”

“I was a stagehand for a few years,” he tells him. The words don’t feel so choked now. His heart still races in his chest. Joel shines brighter than the sun. “I’ve seen a lot of productions.”

“Were you?” Joel asks, smiling and sitting up straighter. “Well, we’re down a few people for crew. I know you’re not a student here, but if you and Sean are up to it-”

“I’m always up to it!” Spoole cheers, smiling wide over at Matt, who just laughs at his mistake. “What about you?”

Matt tries to shake off the way he feels at the prospect of making himself get out of bed and maintain constant contact with people face-to-face, imagines the way it’ll drain his energy, leave him feeling even worse than he has felt. He can still hear his ex’s voice in his ears, feel the bitter snap of them monopolizing and demanding his time over everything else. But Joel’s eyes are soft and his smile is hopeful, and he looks so interested, so Matt barely registers when he answers.

“Yeah. Of course. Just give me a schedule.”

Joel rips off a corner of his script and writes a series of numbers down on it, passing it to Matt and telling him to text him later to get it. Matt promises with a shaky voice and shakier hands, and watches Joel wander off to make it to his last class of the night. He watches the way he walks like the world bows to him, like he walks on stars and he’s the sun, and tries to listen as Spoole chatters happily to him.

He tries to get his vision back that night while splashing water on his face, dark spots flashing behind his eyes, mixed with hazel and purple, and a smile that made him melt. Matt feels like he is going blind, and when he glances up at himself in the mirror, water still dripping from his nose, he doesn’t recognize the hopeful eyes that stare back at him, and wonders how much of an influence Joel will have on his life.

(He can’t remember the last time someone smiled so sincerely at him like that.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [follow me on tumblr!]()

**Author's Note:**

> [follow me on tumblr!](http://seanspooles.co.vu/)


End file.
